Holiday, a Fire Rising story
by inthegrayworld
Summary: Every year, the woman who calls herself 'Miranda Tate' goes on a holiday to meet with old friends. Contains flashbacks, violence, insidious plans for Gotham City, a schism in the League of Shadows, and people speculating about Bane and Talia's relationship. Told primarily in the POVs of Ubu and Barsad. There are also throw-backs to the fic 'Fire Rising'.
1. Ubu

**I - Ubu**

Every year, Miranda Tate goes on a week-long holiday. Ubu organizes all her vacations. Last year it was in June, in a little countryside retreat in Ireland. The year before that, it was in October, in a rented house in rural Turkey. This year it's an August holiday, in a tiny island off the coast of Bora Bora.

"No interruptions," Miranda was telling her secretary over her private jet's phone. It was the last call she was going to receive before the plane landed. "I will not respond to calls, text messages, e-mails, cries for help, or terrorist demands."

Beside her, Ubu was busying himself with documents – permits, maps, photocopies of materials that were too sensitive to bring original copies of. It was going to be a working vacation.

"If Daggett wants a meeting, tell him I'll see him when I get back," Talia was saying. "Other than that? Nothing. I trust you to hold the fort while I'm gone."

She laughed, the light, infectious laugh that had made Miranda a hit at Gotham's society events. "Don't do anything I wouldn't. Good-bye."

The moment she hung up, her smile disappeared.

"That takes care of that," she said, turning to Ubu. "Now why don't you tell me about where we're going?"

Ubu passed her a sheaf of print-outs. "The island is about an hour from the mainland by boat. It was last rented out by Princess Audrey of Kaznia, for her second marriage."

On the first page was a photo of a tall white house against a backdrop of coconut trees and blue sky. The second page showed the entrance in detail – a stately wooden door flanked by white colonnade.

"Quaint," Miranda said dryly.

"The house is the only building on the island," Ubu said. "And its only resident is a full-time caretaker."

"Caretaker?"

"I've told the management that you required the utmost privacy. They were happy to give the caretaker the week off, for an extra fee."

Ubu produced a ring of keys from his satchel. "This will get us in. I told the management you wanted the larder stocked, the sheets pressed, and a fine selection for the wine vault."

"And the rest of my things?"

"I personally saw to their transport last week."

She gave him an appreciative smile.

"They were concerned when I mentioned you were expecting guests," he added. "Normally they'd have a security detail making rounds every day the house is occupied."

"I'm sure you dissuaded them from this."

"I did. For a fee."

"What did you tell them about my guests?"

"That they were associates of yours. Other people of class, who guard their privacy very closely. He stopped inquiring entirely after I—"

"Offered him another fee?"

"Yes."

"Very good then."

By then the plane had begun to dip. The pilot's voice came up over the speakers, telling Miss Tate and her companion that they were ten minutes away from landing.

"And what did you tell my guests?" she asked, as the plane began descending in earnest.

"I gave them the coordinates of the place. I'm sure they'll find it without trouble."

She remained quiet then. Ubu had known Miranda long enough to know that she was using the time to remember, and to plan for the upcoming week.

* * *

People usually approached Ubu when they had questions about her (anything ranging from 'what's her favourite brand of perfume' to 'who is she sleeping with?'), but the only thing he ever conceded to was that he had known her since she was a young lady. That part, at least was true. Everything else was a sham – his real name wasn't 'Ubu' any more than hers was 'Miranda Tate'.

They had first met years ago, in a very different place. He had been introduced by a different name to a wiry-limbed girl, barely out of her teens. She was bent over a sword, polishing the steel with a rag.

"Daughter," her father had said, "this man is to be your protector."

"I already have a protector," she replied.

"That one is no longer with us."

"I have need of no other."

Her father had sighed. "You must to temper your anger," he said.

"I don't need another protector."

The man who would later inherit the title 'Ubu' had spoken up. "If I can't be your protector, let me be your servant."

Both had looked at him – the father with a look of surprise, and the daughter, with curiosity.

"I am indebted to the League of Shadows," he had said, with a bow. That had been true too. "And so I will serve its heir faithfully."

The father had smiled then, and she had asked, 'what is your name?'

* * *

"Ubu."

She had shaken him by the shoulder, as though to wake him up from a dream.

"I apologize—what is it?"

"When we land, tell the pilot he can return to the States at his convenience. We will not be needing him until next week."

"Of course."

"I'll see to our transport to the dock. We already have a boat to the island, yes?"

"We do."

"Good, we'll just tell them to come back for us once the week is done. I don't foresee any problems in the meantime."

They were on the ground now, and he could tell she was fidgety. Already, she was easing out of the mannerisms of Miranda Tate, as though what she was underneath couldn't wait to claw itself out.

Ubu gently laid a hand over hers. "Calm yourself, Talia," he said, in as low a voice as he could manage. "We'll be seeing them soon."

He expected her to reprimand him, and for a moment he thought she would – something dangerous flashed in her eyes. But then she did relax. She smiled.

"I'm looking forward to this holiday," she said.


	2. Barsad

**II – Barsad**

Barsad looked out over the side of the fishing boat. "Nothing but fucking water," he said.

Raio looked up from the GPS map. "You sure he gave us the right coordinates? Whatsisname…"

"Ubu."

"Ubu. Godless bastard. If he's sent us out here in the middle of nowhere I'll cut his balls off."

"You know I think his balls have already been cut off?"

Raio looked up. When he was surprised, his eyebrows went all the way up. "No shit?"

"That's why he was chosen to be that woman's bodyguard…you know what, I'll tell you the full story one day." He gave him a slap on the back. "Keep looking for our island. I'll go talk to the boss."

There were a dozen men on the boat, all of whom were sick of the sight of water. They'd gotten the ship from the south Philippines after tossing its crew overboard. And then, two weeks of nothing but sky and sea.

The Captain was a grizzled old pirate they'd brought with them from Santa Prisca – nowhere on earth he couldn't sail to, or at least he had claimed. Barsad had been personally tasked with shooting him in the face if they couldn't find the island by the time they were supposed to get there.

The boys were loitering on the stairs up to the main deck. Barsad greeted them in a lively tone, smacking shoulders and the backs of heads. Most of them returned the greeting, but he could tell they were all bored, restless. That wasn't a good thing, considering everyone had handguns jutting out of waistbands and belts and chest holsters, and AK-47s strapped to chests and backs or lying across laps. Barsad alone kept a high calibre rifle on a strap on his shoulder.

Barsad went up to the Captain first – he was at the wheel, consulting a set of maps that had come with the ship.

"Anything?" he asked.

The Captain shrugged. "It's here," he said. "Just off where we can't see, but it's here, I'm telling you."

A bead of sweat was creeping down the Captain's temple. Barsad had told him to expect a small fortune if he could get the crew to the island off the coast of Bora Bora. He hadn't mentioned the thing about shooting him in the face, but it seemed the Captain understood.

"Call when you see something," Barsad said.

"Soon," the man repeated. "Soon, before the rain hits."

That's when Barsad noticed how gray the sky had gotten. The waves had also picked up, forcing the boat up and down. Out the Captain's windows there was nothing but water.

"Keep looking," Barsad said, trying to sound optimistic. He didn't want to have to shoot the man. If he did, that left captaining the boat to him – not that he couldn't do it, but he'd be the one up for shooting if anything went wrong.

The fishing boat wasn't a particularly large vessel, but even then, everyone gave the boss a large berth. The men generally figured Barsad had less fear of him than anyone else did – they thought that's what made him Bane's primary lieutenant.

But Barsad knew that it wasn't a matter of him fearing Bane any less. It was simply because he had known the boss the longest.

Barsad found him below deck. It didn't seem like he had moved since the last time Barsad had checked. He was still at the window, staring out. It had begun to rain, the drops washing over the glass.

"What is it?" Bane didn't even look up.

"Nothing yet," said Barsad. "Raio's on the look-out. And the captain said 'soon'."

Bane barely twitched, but Barsad knew he was antsy. And Barsad knew why.

* * *

A few months back, Bane's mercenary army had stormed the fortress of a South African warlord. In between the shooting, Barsad had seen Bane pause, and still holding a bazooka aloft, mosey into the fort's security room.

Inside had been a couple of dead guards and a working TV, with cable, tuned to the news.

A well-dressed woman identified as 'Miranda Tate' on the screen was talking to the host about some kind of environmental project.

"The Tate Foundation is glad to support Wayne Enterprises' Fusion Project," she was saying. "I personally believe it's the world's best chance for clean, sustainable energy."

"What about Bruce Wayne though, have you actually seen him?" The host was a man with huge teeth and too much gel in his hair. "He's been out of the limelight recently, but he's certainly the sort who'd want to meet a lovely woman such as yourself."

Bane had snorted into his mask. "Look at that," he said to Barsad. "She wants to kill him."

He pointed at Miranda Tate's visage on the tiny screen. She was laughing primly, with nothing at all to suggest she wanted to commit violence.

"…I haven't been able to meet Mr. Wayne, but I'd love the opportunity…" she was saying.

"She wants to put a knife right through his neck, for his impertinence," Bane said. "She's just holding back because she has to."

Both Miranda and the host were now dithering over the color of her scarf, and how it matched her shoes.

"Um," Barsad had repeatedly looked over his shoulder, expecting someone to come right up to shoot them.

"No matter," Bane had said, putting the rocket launcher on his shoulder, aiming out the door and firing. The force of it nearly brought Barsad to his knees. "We'll be seeing her soon, and she can tell us all about it."

* * *

"We should be seeing land in a bit," Barsaid said to Bane. "We won't be keeping her waiting too long."

Bane didn't reply. But as the rain began to intensify, Barsad became aware of another noise coming from the deck. Voices.

The men had clustered at the hull, pointing and cheering. The stronger the wind blew, and the heavier the rain, the more they cheered. Barely visible on the horizon was a dark smear, the sight of which made Barsad grin.

"Land," Raio said, sliding up beside him. "Son of a bitch knows his shit after all."

He thumbed over his shoulder towards the upper deck. Through the windows, the Captain was grinning madly.

Heavy footsteps came from behind. As one, the crew quieted down, straightened up. A few of the boys were on the verge of throwing salutes.

"Well," Bane walked out into the deck, hands on the collar of his armored chest plate. He made a noise, like he were scenting the air through his mask. "I see we've found our island."

The men cheered again, guns raised.

The vessel had two lifeboats, both of which were deployed towards the Island. Two men were left aboard the fishing ship. The Captain would be coming along, to make sure he wouldn't try making the return trip without them.

Barsad's boat was in the lead, with the men at the oars straining against the waves. The island loomed large now. He could spot a building among the trees – a large white house. Right before them though, was a little strip of beach with white sand. Waiting on the beach were two figures.

The closer the boat got, the clearer they became. One was a man with dark skin and broad shoulders, at least as tall as Bane.

While the boats struggled to shore, the tall man momentarily left, and then returned with something that looked like a large piece of fabric. He draped it across the second person's shoulders. A towel, maybe. And no surprise, the rain was hard on everyone's backs now. To Barsad though, the towel looked remarkably like the cloak of a conquering hero, sweeping out with the wind.

"That's a woman, isn't it?" The Captain suddenly said. He was seated right behind Barsad. "God! Half a month with you lads and I felt like I'd never see a mama again!"

Barsad quickly looked over his shoulder, but Bane was far off, seated at the back of the other boat. Even so, Barsad kept his voice low.

"Captain," he said. "You haven't been with us long, so I'll tell you what every man here already knows – you do not mess with that woman."

Barsad looked him right in the eye. "_Never_ mess with that woman."

"Why? Who is she?" The Captain looked worried now, although Barsad wasn't certain how he could have ever not worried, piloting a boat of mercenaries. "Is she…Bane's?"

"The opposite, maybe," Barsad muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

Barsad was the first off the boat. He went right up to them, his boots sinking in the sand. He remembered Ubu – the man stood, stoic, against the blast of the storm. Talia though, was smiling.

"Demonhead," Barsaid said, with a small inclination of the head.

The others filed in behind him, greeting her with the title of the head of the League of Shadows, with the exception of the Captain who seemed to be trying to shrink away.

She returned their nods, but said not a word until Bane came to the shore. He strode up the beach, the storm sweeping his coat out behind him. Instinctively, everyone else stepped out of the way, until he was before her, face to face.

"Talia," he said.

She was looking up at him. "Bane."

Barsad found himself wondering, as he usually did when they went on these 'holidays', how those two would have greeted each other if they had been alone. After all, she had known Bane longer than anyone else.

But Bane simply said, "Let's get out of this wretched weather."

"Of course." Talia turned to her companion. "Ubu, help our guests with their bags."


	3. Ubu II

**III – Ubu**

They turned the main dining area into a war room.

Around the table were Talia, Bane, Barsad, and a handful of other mercenaries, each chosen for their expertise in specific fields. Among them was a man who knew a thing or two about explosives, another who was familiar with all manner of transport, including planes and military vehicles, and a man who could forge official documents, with his specialty being passports.

Raio was there because he could design programs to crack into even the most secure encryptions, although it would seem there was a limit to his powers.

"Wayne Enterprises cannot be cracked into without their security people picking up on it," he was saying. "Unless you can actually get me into the building, then I can bug the hardware."

Talia had her chin propped up on the back of her hand. "I can plant it myself, if you'll teach me how," she said.

"The trouble is if it's found," he said. "How do you explain a thing like that away?"

Talia shrugged. "Corporate espionage? Wayne Enterprises has a long list of enemies. John Daggett for one. It's no secret that he has his sights set on absorbing Wayne Enterprises…"

Ubu himself was rarely part of the proceedings. He made sure everyone's glasses were filled, and there was always a tray of finger foods nearby. He received the hourly security reports from Bane's men – majority of them had been set in a perimeter around the island, except for the ones guarding their fishing boat. So far, they had reported nothing unusual.

Every now and then Talia called on Ubu to remind her of something – the name of some Gotham socialite, or how many bridges and tunnels there were going in and out of the city, or how robust the city's police force was.

"They number around 3,000 strong, Demonhead," Ubu said. Since she wasn't Miranda Tate at the moment, he referred to her by her title. "Word is that though their numbers swell, the force as a whole has gone soft. The Dent Act keeps the criminal lords behind bars at Blackgate Prison, and the police have no one to pit their skills against."

"Thank you, Ubu," she said. "And so we'll have a bloated police force to deal with."

"Perhaps they can be lured away," Bane said, his voice muffled behind his mask. He had gotten his hands on one of the cords used to tie the curtains open, and was idly winding it around his hands, pulling it into knots and shapes.

"What could lure away such a number of people?" Talia asked.

"Something threatening enough to warrant their attention."

"A neutron bomb, perhaps?" she asked with a smile.

"No, by the time we reveal the bomb, the police should already be out of the picture."

Talia paused to think on it. "We'll get back to that," she said, throwing a sidelong glance at Barsad. He had been tasked with keeping the minutes.

Ubu swept the used glasses from the table. It was approaching evening, and everyone had gone from coffee, to water, and now to champagne. Everyone except Bane, that was – he simply sat, winding the cord around his wrist. Every now and then, he spoke, and when he did, everyone listened. But for the most it seemed he was content to know what everyone else had to say.

Ubu found himself watching Bane, quietly studying from the corner of his eye the way the mercenary sat, the way he spoke, the way he played with the cord like he needed to constantly employ his hands. Like it would be all too easy to turn his hands on something else. During last year's holiday, one of Bane's men had made the mistake of saying something vulgar about Talia, in his hearing. He had snapped the man's wrist, with a single twist of his hand. From the way the mercenaries had talked about it afterwards, it seemed the man had gotten off lucky.

Ubu abruptly froze. Across the table, Bane was looking directly at him.

Off to the side, Barsad and Raio were arguing about how long it would take the American government to respond to the threat of a nuclear bomb in Gotham City. Talia had turned her attention to them, but Bane kept his eyes on Ubu, the cord stretched taut between both hands. Ubu felt a rivulet of sweat down his spine. Even with the mask, he could tell Bane was smiling.

Ubu looked away, gathering up the plates and making for the kitchen. He heard a small noise, which might have been Bane chuckling.

* * *

It was Talia who first told Ubu about Bane, in the days following her father's death. A schism had erupted in the League of Shadows, between those who believed Talia was to inherit the title of 'Demonhead', and those who didn't. It was to be expected that there would be detractors, and that they would send assassins after Talia – assassination after all, was one of the core disciplines of the League. Ubu had advised her to seek allies, anyone who might help her regain control. What he didn't know was that she already had someone in mind.

They had wound up in Brazil, in a bar in one of the less frequented side streets of Sao Paolo.

"Don't do this," Ubu had said. She was handing him her purse, in which she kept a handgun and a spare magazine. "He will kill you as surely as any of the Schism assassins."

"That man was once my protector," she had said.

"Until Ra's al Ghul excommunicated him from the League. Why would he help you now?"

The man they would later come to know as Barsad was waiting by the counter, stacking shot glasses into a tower. He had agreed to bring Talia to Bane, provided she came alone and unarmed.

"I will ask him," Talia had said, unhitching the pistol she had strapped to her thigh, under the flow of her skirt.

Ubu had strained to keep panic from touching his tone. "You've heard the stories about him. He is a monster without conscience. Are you really going to trust a man who wears a mask?"

If she kept her knife, she'd have a chance to escape, Ubu had thought. Even alone, Talia was formidable with a bladed weapon. But then she bent down to tug at something in her boot. Ubu's heart sank as she pulled out the double-edged combat dagger.

"I've known him since before there were stories," she had said, her lips set. "He will not harm me."

Ubu had watched Talia and Barsad disappear down into the bar's cellar, which their informant had told them was really just the ante-chamber into a vast network of underground tunnels, the current home of the mercenary called Bane, and his army.

Ubu had fought against the thought that he'd never see Talia again. He had been wrong of course, even if upon her return she had been unspeakably disappointed.

* * *

The kitchen's backdoor led out into a little garden, where the night air brought in the smell of the sea. Ubu breathed deep. The moon was creeping up above the coconut trees. That meant today's series of talks would be drawing to a close, and Bane's men would be looking for something stronger than champagne.

Ubu saw that someone had apparently started early. On the steps leading down into the beach, the Captain balanced a bottle of red on his knee. There was a wine glass in his hand, but he was drinking from the bottle.

"This is what rich people drink, eh?" he said, a bit too loudly. "Not bad at all."

The rest of Bane's men either joined the talks or secured the Island. The Captain alone was useless, until it was time to get back on the boat.

"What's your name again?" the man asked, his speech slurring. "Udu?"

"Ubu."

"Whu kind of a name is Ubu?"

"An old one," Ubu said simply.

The Captain laughed again, a barking, coughing laugh that brought up lines of drool down the corner of his chin.

"Where did you say Bane and his lot found you again?" Ubu asked.

"Santa Prisca," the man said with a burp. "Those devils have quite an operation there. Told me I'd get a slice of that pie if I helped them out. Get them to the woman."

"Which you have done, admirably."

The Captain reeled back. "Yeah. She Bane's girlfriend?"

Ubu chose not to answer that.

"They're all calling her the…uh…Demon. Head. Barsy told me she's the leader of the League of Shadows. That true?"

"Maybe."

"I was telling him—she dun't look like the leader of…what'd you call…a group like the League," he paused to take a particularly long swig. "I thought the leader of the League was immortal," he hiccupped. "Why'd you need this much security if she was immortal?"

Ubu just smiled. The man asked a lot of questions but Ubu doubted the answers would really mean anything to him, not in this frame of mind. All the better reason to keep him that way, until the week came to a close.

The Captain belched again, and seemed to lapse into his own little world. The bottle slid from his fingers, clattering down the steps, leaving a trail of red. The bottle smashed against the bottom of the steps, the wine oozing out into the sand.

"Oops," the Captain said.

"I'll get you another," said Ubu.


	4. Barsad II

**IV – Barsad**

It was halfway through the week when the phone call came. Personally, Barsad was happy for the interruption. He was getting very, very sick of taking notes.

They had been discussing how to get the League of Shadows' army, over two hundred men and women, into Gotham City. Bane was in the middle of proposing transporting the soldiers in a few at a time, over the span of a few months, when he was interrupted by music. It was the first few bars of 'Ode to Joy'.

The table fell quiet. Everyone turned to Ubu, who was in the middle of passing around copies of Gotham's sewer network. The noise was coming from his pocket.

It took him a moment to react, to fish out the ringing phone.

"It's your secretary," Ubu said, turning to Talia. She frowned.

The tune played again, and again. Finally, she went to answer it. Barsad noticed a change in how she walked, smoothly going from a strong militaristic stalk to a sinuous lady's stride. Even the way she took the phone was noticeably daintier. The moment she answered the phone, she was not Talia, but Miranda Tate.

"Darcy," she said, in a light, but reprimanding tone. "I seem to remember telling you that I wouldn't be taking any calls."

But then her disguise slipped. "What!?"

Her voice echoed across the dining hall so sharply, the men guarding the door peered inside.

Barsad saw shock give way to wrath on Talia's face, saw her fighting to suppress it.

"What do you mean they've scrapped the project?" her voice was rising. Her secretary's voice came as a high, panicky murmur. "Half of Wayne's budget is in the fusion project! How can they scrap it!?"

Barsad turned to Bane, who watched the development quietly, arms crossed on his chest.

Talia was pacing across the hall, still on the phone. She was making wild gesticulations with her other hand, cutting shapes in the air.

"I'm calling Fox, right now," she was saying. "Wayne cannot do this without the approval of the board—I see. I see. I'm calling Fox anyway."

She hung up and turned to the table, gripping her phone so tightly Barsad thought she'd pitch it right into the wall.

"There's been a complication," she said in an icy voice. "Perhaps we should adjourn for now."

And then she was down the corridor. Her voice came again, loud in the halls.

"Oh dear," Raio muttered. "No fusion engine, no bomb for us."

"What happens now?" Barsad asked Bane.

"Now," he said, rising from the table, "We take a break."

While Raio took half the boys out to the beach ("this _is_ a holiday," he had said), Barsad checked in with the men guarding the boat, conferred with Ubu about the Island's security, and made a few long distance calls to the base back in Santa Prisca.

He wandered into the kitchen, and out into the garden where he stumbled upon the Captain in the garden, buried under a pile of bottles and reeking of salt and sweat.

"Have you been here since last night?" Barsad asked.

He'd made a few weak noises, and went back to sleep.

Barsad found that he had nothing left to do. Nothing, but wait. It was a terrible feeling. Talia had long finished her calls, but it was like the echo of her voice still reverberated in the air.

The anger of other people rarely ruffled Barsad. He'd gone through the militia, and he'd worked with Bane. But something about Talia unnerved him, especially when she expressed anger.

* * *

He'd known something was different about her since she and Ubu went to Brazil, looking for Bane. He had brought her to meet Bane himself, although he hadn't know about their history then.

Nearly a year after the Brazil visit, Bane had sent Barsad to parlay with her. He'd had to travel to Istanbul, where she and Ubu were billeted in one of the fancier hotels.

Ubu had answered the door when he knocked, furtively though, checking over Barsad's shoulder if he was being followed. That's when Barsad noticed there was blood on Ubu's collar.

"Quickly," Ubu whispered, ushering him inside.

The suite was trashed. Furniture had been upturned, the curtains ripped from the window. Barsad's well-trained eye picked out bullet holes on the sofa, and spent shells on the carpet. Talia was in the next room, with blood splattered on the front of her dress. It wasn't her blood though.

On the floor behind her were a woman dressed like a hotel maid, and a man who looked like a delivery boy. They were both unconscious, bound together with strips cut from the bedsheets. The man was bleeding freely from the mouth, while the woman had cuts covering her face.

"Barsad," Talia was unharmed. She had a combat knife in her right hand, the blade stained. In the other hand, she had a silenced pistol. "How good of you to join us."

He had automatically reached for the handgun he kept tucked into his belt.

"Who are these people?"

Talia didn't seem the least bit perturbed, but underneath, Barsad could feel the current of her anger – cold and edged like the knife she held in her hand.

"Assassins," she said. "You should have seen them fight – completely relentless, without fear of death. Maybe even expecting to die. Worthy enemies, don't you think?"

"We found them rigging bombs around the room," Ubu said in a monotone.

Barsad leapt back. "There are bombs in this room!?"

"Oh yes," Talia said. "There's a kilogram of C-4 under the bed, if you care to check. Don't worry, the detonator is with Ubu."

The detonator was indeed in Ubu's hand. It hardly made Barsad feel better.

"It's a pity, really," Talia said. "They want the same thing I do."

"Excuse me?"

"Those on the other side of the Schism," she said. "All they want is to see the goals of the League of Shadows through – to bring balance to the world, as my father used to say."

She pointed her gun at the man and woman. "What they don't understand is the person who will accomplish this is me."

"I am Ra's al Ghul's heir," she said. "I am the League of Shadows."

She put a bullet through both their heads.

What followed after had been surreal. Ubu had helped her into an expensive fur-lined coat, to cover the stains on her dress, and the three of them had gone down, across the street, to a little tourist café. While sipping robust coffee, Talia had blinked in Ubu's direction, nothing more, and the boom of a explosives going off in a hotel room had thundered through the street.

While people screamed and ran past the café, Talia had sipped her coffee and asked for news from Bane.

Barsad had taken a while finding his voice. "He…ah, he agrees to your proposal," he said. "He will help you."

She had smiled then – a smile of such warmth it was almost more disturbing than what she had just done to the assassins.

"That's good to hear," she had breathed, while around them the crowds had surged, and sirens signalled police cars and ambulances.

"Tell him I'm overjoyed," she had said. "And tell him," here, the hardness had returned to her voice. "Tell him I look forward to sharing my father's destiny with him."

* * *

Barsad wandered around the upper floors of the house, where the hallway was decorated by a series of sculptures propped up on pedestals. They looked like targets on a gun range.

He paused before something that looked like a lump of shit with a face carved into it. He picked it up, examining the gouges that made its eyes and mouth. People called this art?

"You probably shouldn't touch that," someone said.

It was Ubu, at the end of the hallway, a good-natured smile on his face.

"Yeah? What if I dropped it?"

"Miranda Tate would cover the damages, but as is, this is already one of the pricier holidays she's gone on."

Both men chuckled.

"Speaking of which, do you know where she is?" Ubu asked.

"The Demonhead? I thought she was making her calls."

"She was, but I haven't seen her since."

Barsad frowned. "Come to think of it I haven't seen Bane in a while either."

"Ah," Ubu said. Perhaps a knowing sort of 'ah'.

"You don't think…" Barsad began.

"It's not my place…" Ubu said immediately.

"…that they…"

"Not all aspects of the Demonhead's life are open to me…"

"…fuck?"

Ubu blustered.

"Makes sense right?" Barsad said, although now he was just saying it to see how Ubu would react. "She falls into a foul mood, he happens to be around, she needs to blow off steam—"

"That is not our business," Ubu hissed through his teeth.

"All right," Barsad laughed. "No need to be so serious—"

That's when they heard the noises.

It was coming from the room near the end of the hall, through a pair of heavy wooden doors – something heavy shuddering, falling. Pounding against the walls, or maybe against the floor. A heavy grunt. A woman's voice, coming strained.

"Oh gods," Ubu blanched. "We should not be here."

Barsad though, found himself creeping towards the room. There was a crack where the double doors had slipped open.

"Barsad!" Ubu hissed. "They will kill us both!"

But Barsad was at the door, peering in. A look of astonishment crossed his face.

"Will you look at that," he muttered.


	5. Talia

**V – Talia**

Ubu had set up Talia's things in the Library.

There were racks of old swords and knives of various sizes, from her penthouse in Gotham – whenever guests asked, she said she collected antique weapons. Give Miranda Tate a light touch of eccentricity and people seemed to love her more.

What her guests never saw was the wooden training dummy, its features gone under years of gashes and cuts. It wasn't for serious practice – when Talia wanted to hone her swordplay, she sparred with Ubu. Mostly, it was to catch the brunt of her frustrations, like right now.

Talia had been hacking at it for the past twenty minutes, with a slender wakizashi. She had imagined her secretary's face on the dummy, then Lucius Fox's and every single one of Wayne Enterprises' board of directors, and finally Bruce Wayne himself.

She brought the sword down in a two-handed strike across the dummy's face. Bruce Wayne, the man who killed Ra's al Ghul - whose footsteps she had all but shadowed since assuming the persona of Miranda Tate, but who had remained frustratingly out of reach. Bruce Wayne, who had ordered the scrapping of the fusion project because he thought it might be used as a weapon. How had he foiled her plan without anticipating it at all?

She had left a deep cut on the dummy's face. If only it were that easy to destroy her enemies. But as her father had a habit of saying, the worthiest foes were always the hardest to defeat.

She found herself remembering Ra's al Ghul. He had been the one to teach her the sword, after all.

* * *

Talia had taken to the sword quickly, something that she was sure made her father proud. He had decided to train her personally, in its intricacies.

"In a duel, it is customary to salute the opponent," he once said, raising his weapon and touching the blunt side of the blade to his forehead.

"Will I have to salute all my enemies?" she asked, mimicking the motion.

"Given time, and only if you find them to be worthy," he said with a smile of such affection Talia had felt herself invigorated.

The instructions would continue, whip-like, while she struggled to keep up. "Move your feet," he would say. Or, "sword up, always."

They sparred in the League's main training hall, settling into conversation while they fought – about Talia's mother, now dead, or how she was finding lessons in subterfuge and bomb-making and languages and combat.

It had been on such an occasion when Ra's had brought up Bane. Talia had not thought much of it at the time.

"He is ever at your side," Ra's had said, bringing his blade down so heavily on hers, it made her elbows rattle. "That creature, Bane."

"He protects me," Talia had said. She attempted to counter, but he parried her easily. "Much like Ubu protects you."

"Ubu? He guards me, but that is not his primary function." Ra's allowed her to take the offensive, but he sidestepped her attacks, knocking her blade aside with flicks of his wrist. "If I asked him to, he would assume the role of Ra's al Ghul, drawing to his person the dangers of that name, that I may operate more freely. Ubu is my servant."

"Well…" Talia tried to slash, but the blow went wide. "He's not my servant. He…"

It had been hard to think precisely of what Bane was, while duelling her father.

"He was born in the Pit, as I was," she finally said. "We're the same."

She attacked head-on, sword raised high. To the present day she wasn't sure how it happened, but he had suddenly knocked her back. She just suddenly realised she was flat on her back, her sword clattering out of reach.

"No," Ra's had said. She should have recognized the gravity in his voice then. "You escaped the Pit – there is no limit to your potential now. One day you will rise up to lead the League of Shadows. You."

He had sheathed his sword, avoiding her eyes. "Bane has been tainted by the Pit," he said. "That place is inscribed on every scar he carries."

"He got those scars helping me escape," Talia quickly said. "If it weren't for him I would still be—"

"I know," her father said, helping her up. "That is why he may stay beside you."

Talia had smiled at that. What she hadn't caught was what was left unspoken. He may stay beside you, _for now_.

* * *

Talia felt her blood surge. She imagined her father's face on the wooden dummy, and struck. It was a clean strike, with strong follow-through. The dummy's head sailed off its shoulders, knocked against the books lined up against the wall, and fell to the carpet. That was for Ra's al Ghul, and for Bruce Wayne, his protégée.

Talia realized her shoulders were trembling. She raised the sword once again, aiming at one of the dummy's arms, when she realized she wasn't alone.

It often surprised people how quietly he could move, considering his size. The door hadn't even creaked. But Talia had known him a long time.

He stood before her, hands on the collar of his armored vest. Talia knew what he looked like beneath his mask, knew what he looked like before he had even needed it. She knew he was regarding her now, could almost read his thoughts.

He slid his coat off and it fell with a whisper behind him. Talia understood. He stepped towards her. She felt her own pulse quicken, the blood hot on her face. She went to meet him – how he towered over her, the muscles tight in his arms. She could hear him breathing now, slow, deep.

At the last moment she lifted her sword, and he raised his fist.

He was strong – but she was fast. His blow missed by half an inch, clubbing the space beside her ear. She could see herself reflected in his eye. And then she was on the offensive, driving the point of her steel towards his face. She cried out, and she heard genuine rage behind it. He sidestepped, and she stabbed nothing but air.

He began to counter – she could see his fist falling like a meteor, and she leapt out of the way entirely. His blow connected to the wooden dummy, leaving a crack along its length. He made a low noise, smashing the dummy to the floor before rounding on her again.

This time he ran – and the sheer sight of his bulk crashing towards her almost made her freeze up—almost. She rolled to the side, and he smashed into the wall behind her, felling books and shelving. Talia forced herself upright. Sword up, always, she thought.

At the corner of her eye, Talia saw that others had come to join them. Barsad had appeared at the door, a look of honest intrigue on his face. Close behind was Ubu, who couldn't mask his surprise either. If Bane noticed they had an audience, he didn't show it. Not even when more of his own men clustered in with Barsad, pointing and whispering amongst themselves.

"500 on Bane," Raio said.

"Yeah? Match you on that, on the Demonhead," said Barsad.

Talia blocked them all out – this dance was between her and Bane. She created a barrier with her sword, slashing and cutting, forcing him to back away from the flashing edge. She felt sweat drip onto her brow – she hadn't been in a serious fight in a while. It gave her a rush that rose sweetly to her head. With a sharp hiss, she lunged. Close – the blade touched his forearm, leaving a sharp line of red.

He swerved. For a split second she thought he was falling back. But then his leg came around, his heavy boot colliding with her ribs. The kick threw her halfway across the Library. She absorbed most of the shock with a roll, but she ended up hard against the corner. Her entire right side was numb.

At the doorway, Ubu was calling for an end to the fight. But Talia wasn't having it. She forced herself to her knees, her grip tight on the sword. The men actually cheered when she rose, bringing her weapon up again.

Bane laughed at this, opening his arms wide. Come at me, he seemed to say. And so she did.

She threw herself into the attack, which was a mistake. He took a step back, dodging the pointy end, whipping his arm out. He caught her by the forearm and the sword went flying from her hand.

Talia saw it sail into the bookcase, jammed into the shelves. But she knew what was coming next. He had already raised his fist – it was coming towards her, straight at her head. Talia reacted in the wink of an eye – stepping into Bane's space instead of away, throwing her arms around his elbow. She could never have hoped to beat Bane's strength, but there were ways to use his own power against him.

The momentum of the blow coursed through him – she was the pivot. She twisted, and sent the whole weight of him over her shoulder. He landed on his back on the floor with a crash that shook dust from the ceiling.

The men at the door gasped as a whole – and Talia knew they had never seen their boss thrown down. She couldn't pause to celebrate. She strode to the rack, yanking a pair of daggers, one for each hand.

By then Bane was up again, seemingly unhurt. She hurled one of the knives right at him. As he dodged it she rushed him, slashing with the other blade.

This time, it was he who arrested her arm. The knife point stopped an inch from his throat. Talia tried to draw back, but his grip was tight. He drew his face away from the knife, but that was all he did. Talia spend a few moments trying to worm her way out of his hold, but it was to no avail.

Finally, she hooked the fingers of her free hand into the collar of his chest plate. Not that it would do any good - it was just the last of the adrenaline rush draining away. She leaned into him, gasping. This close, she could him drawing sharp, short breaths – the remains of exertion.

The fight was over.

Talia gave the men at the door a particularly harsh look. They all got the signal, jostling at the elbows as they pooled out the door. Ubu and Barsad were the last to leave, with Ubu conscientiously shutting the door on his way out.

Talia kept her hand on Bane's collar.

"You do realize," she said, through heavy breaths, "That I could have beaten you at any time."

She pointed at the little tubes on his mask. "All I had to do was cut these out. I could have. I chose not to, because your men were watching."

"How very generous," he said. "Of course _you_ realize that I could have twisted your arm out of its socket at any time. It just occurred to me that you may still have use of your arm."

Talia grinned. He might have returned the grin under the mask.

"Are you quite calm now?" he asked. She nodded. Only then did he let her go, and Talia grew serious again. She collected her fallen weapons and began setting them back on the rack.

"Bruce Wayne has, in Fox's words, 'mothballed the fusion project'," she said, yanking her sword from where it had stuck between two books. "I don't believe they'll destroy the machine, but either way, it delays our plans for Gotham City. By a few years, at least."

"So we wait," he said.

"We do what's necessary. So yes, we wait." She made a cutting motion with the sword. "But you know what they say about the slow blade."

She paused at the door, with one hand on the knob. "Bane?"

"Talia."

She touched the blunt side of the blade to her forehead. He returned it with a slow nod.


	6. The Assassin

**VI – The Assassin**

There had apparently been some kind of excitement up at the house. The mercenaries were talking about a fight between Bane and Talia—no, not a fight. A duel. They'd been sparring in the library.

"Technically Bane won," Raio was saying.

Barsad shook his head. "No, that was a draw. You'll notice it was the boss who ceased hostilities first, so I'd say it was a draw bordering on Talia winning…"

They both looked up as the Assassin passed by. Raio gave him a wave, and Barsad sort of nodded as he went past. The Assassin nodded back.

Most of the others men were loitering in the living room. Someone had hooked up a Play Station to the TV and a couple of the men were now deep into a game of Call of Duty. In the kitchen, someone was passing out bottles of chilled beer. The Assassin took one, smiling blankly when the bartender said, 'sure you haven't had enough?' He emptied the bottle down his throat, most of the drink ending up on his shirt.

"Not nearly," he said.

There was a hush when Bane came down the stairs. The Assassin bit back a smirk – of course they feared him. They knew him only as the masked mercenary, their leader. None of them had seen him when Ra's al Ghul had pulled him out of the Pit, a broken, pitiful thing, so deep in agony he could barely speak. But the Assassin remembered.

Bane exchanged a few words with Barsad and Raio before stepping out. And then there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Boss not drinking with the crew?" the Assassin asked.

The bartender shrugged. "You ever see him eat or drink?"

The Assassin laughed out loud, like that were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He doubled back, spilling whatever remained of his beer on the floor.

"Ohhh-shit! How does he—I can't even imagine—" His voice was loud, but not too loud. It was important not to attract any more attention than necessary.

He slumped forward all of a sudden, right against the bartender, who quickly shoved him back in disgust.

"Think about it!" the Assassin insisted. "How does he go down on the Demonhead with that thing on his face—"

The bartender actually recoiled.

"Shut up," he hissed. "He'll fucking tear you in two if he hears—"

"Won't hear," the Assassin slurred. "He's outside. And I…" he took a couple of staggering paces back. "I'm right here."

He pointed at himself, smiling as widely and drunkenly as he could manage. He stumbled back against the mercenaries milling around the sofas, and they pushed him away, cursing him.

The bartender just shook his head and looked away. He didn't notice that the gun he kept in a holster at his hip had somehow wound up inside the Assassin's jacket.

The Assassin could feel its weight bumping against his hip. This is what he'd waited almost the entire week for.

He kept one eye on the doorway out, and another on the staircase. He took every beer and glass of wine and shot glass the mercenaries – those idiots – handed to him. Most of it went out the sides of his mouth. No one noticed.

Finally, he found his opening – Ubu went down the stairs, an empty pitcher in one hand and a used towel in the other. The Assassin watched him with a clarity of vision that could have been compared to a bird of prey's – there was Ubu turning into the kitchen, exchanging words with the bartender. He'd be crossing over into the laundry to dump the towel. That gave the Assassin around four minutes.

The Assassin checked the main door, but Bane had not yet returned. Slowly, still laughing, still with a bottle swinging in his hand, he began to slide towards the staircase. Not a single one of them even glanced in his direction. And then he was leaping up the steps, the gun sliding into his hand, all signs of mirth gone from his face.

* * *

He had already mastered the art of assassination when Talia and Bane were taken in by the League of Shadows. They had never known him – while they were indoctrinated, he had gone on mission after mission, never tarrying long at the League's monastery. But the Assassin knew who they were. There was not a single initiate who didn't know about Ra's al Ghul's daughter and her pet monster.

As they grew up, so did their notoriety. There were stories of Talia's skill with the sword, and her grace and acumen. Always alongside these were tales of Bane's strength and brutality, and his keen mind for strategy. And so the Assassin had found himself disappointed the first time he got to see them in the flesh.

It had been from across the monastery's training hall – he was about to head out on an assignment when Talia and her team returned from one.

He had seen a girl, barely into her teens, yanking off her hood to reveal a thick rush of hair, wide eyes, a wide smile. Right behind her had been a large man, with a rudimentary breathing mask strapped across the lower half of his face like one of the League's ninja masks.

The two had been followed by a League strike force – among them a woman carrying a sniper rifle, a one-eyed man puffing on a cigarette, another man with a scar across his face. The Assassin had recognized them all as veterans, all of them far older and more experienced than the two leading them.

The girl had gone right up to Ra's al Ghul and the servant he then called Ubu, just waltzed right up to them, with a stupid grin on her face.

"The mission has been accomplished, father," the Assassin heard her say.

Ra's had smiled indulgently. He had praised the girl for her skill and resourcefulness, but the Assassin saw what the Demonhead had allowed his fatherly regard to gloss over – that the girl was just a cocky child. While she spoke, the man in the mask loomed at her shoulder, arms crossed, like some ludicrous bodyguard.

"You've done well," Ra's was saying. "But what you should remember is that this isn't a game."

"I know that," she said. "That doesn't mean it can't be fun, can it?"

The way she had smiled, the way she had shrugged like it didn't matter at all, remained with the Assassin long after he departed on his mission. It came to mind again when, years later, word came of Ra's al Ghul's death in Gotham City. When the Schism came to the League, he already knew which side he'd be on – he would not serve under that girl.

* * *

The bartender's gun was an old SIG Sauer. Not the Assassin's choice of weapon, but it would have to suffice.

It was quiet, by the master's bedroom, and so the hinges seemed to scream when he pushed the door open.

The woman who had taken the name 'Demonhead' upon herself was at a table, maps and papers spread out before her. The only light came from the desk lamp that illuminated her face with a ghastly sheen. For one glorious moment, there was puzzlement on her face.

"Captain?" she asked.

"Talia al Ghul." He raised the gun, his finger on the trigger. "May you live forever."

Her hand moved towards the lamp – it was all he saw before the room plunged into darkness.


	7. Bane

**VII – Bane**

Bane was at the veranda, wondering at how the moon lit up the white sand on the beach when the first gunshot rang out, loud as thunder.

Bane was through the door by the time the second shot sounded - adrenaline didn't as much as well up, as shoot straight into his veins. In the living room, Barsad had dropped the glass he was holding, and fallen into motion, the rest of the men following.

Bane made a few curt gestures as he swept to the landing. The men behind him dispersed into groups, with Barsad, Raio and Ubu following at his heels. The clicks of the safeties on a dozen automatic weapons coming off followed them up the stairs.

There was another gunshot, and a cry of pain – Talia's. Bane stopped short at the corridor. The doors to her bedroom had been thrown open. She was grappling with a person at the end of the hallway, trying to wrest a gun from his hand. It was the Captain.

Bane registered three things at once – that the Captain was not at all drunk, that he had the training to match Talia's, and that blood was dripping from Talia's sleeve. The Captain, who had piloted the boat to the island and had spent the better part of the week freely roaming the premises, had succeeded in sneaking into Talia's chamber, and making her bleed.

Bane felt something like an electric jolt pierce him, but he checked himself. Now was not the time for rage. That would come later. For now, he had to disarm the assassin.

But the Captain had already noticed them. Talia tried throwing her elbow against his face but he blocked and countered with a fist to her ribs, hitting her precisely where Bane's kick had landed during the sparring. She gasped, went limp for a moment, just long enough for him to get his arm around her throat.

Ubu made to charge but Bane stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.

"No," Bane said. "That one is mine."

"Bold words," The Captain said. The gun was aimed at Bane now. "Take one more step and you'll be seeing the Demonhead's brains all over the carpet."

"So shoot her," Bane said. "I will take great pleasure in tearing you apart afterwards."

The assassin didn't falter, keeping his grip on Talia and the gun pointed right at Bane's head. Bane noticed for the first time how sharp the man's eyes were.

"Do you think I fear death?" he asked. "I took this mission knowing I wouldn't return."

Talia began to gag, through which a few words were discernible.

"How felicitous of my enemies, to send such a brave agent…" She was straining against the crook of his arm, but his lock tightened. She was trying to pry herself loose with one hand, her other arm hanging weak at her side, dripping blood against her dress.

"Keep still, or you can watch your monster die before following him," he hissed.

She made a strangled kind of laugh, but her gaze crossed Bane's. Instinctively, he went into a crouch.

"Fool," she said to the assassin. "You can't hope to kill us both."

And then she swung her head back, striking the back of her head against his face.

The gun went off, Bane felt the bullet glance past his head. But he was already thundering forward. The assassin's arm snapped under his hands, the bone breaking free of the skin. The gun fell to the floor.

Talia threw herself back – Bane saw Ubu catch her, out the corner of his eye. Now it was just him and the Captain. Bane saw, with relish, that there was fear on the man's face.

"So," Bane said. "You were saying you weren't expecting to survive."

Bane's first blow hurled the man back across the hall. The Captain tried to get up – Bane could see the training of the League of Shadows in how quickly he got to his feet again. But Bane had been an initiate as well. He blocked the man's attempt to counter, and buried his knee into the man's guts. The Captain choked out blood.

There was no need to rush now. Bane lifted the man off his feet, felt him scrambling for purchase and finding none. He smashed the Captain right against the wall, face first. There was a crunch that might have been his nose. And then Bane picked him up to do it again.

"Bane," her voice knifed through his rage.

Barsad and Ubu were seeing to her arm, but she was looking at him. "Not here please," she said. "We'd never get the blood off the wallpaper."

There was wisdom to this, and Bane nodded at that.

"Outside then," he said.

At the end of the corridor was a window overlooking the beach. The assassin went flying through it.

* * *

The first time Talia had told Bane people would be trying to kill her was in the mercenary army's bunker in Brazil. Barsad had told Bane a woman who called herself the Demonhead wanted to talk to him – he had known right away it was her, although it had been near a decade since his expulsion from the League of Shadows.

"My father's death has left the League divided," she had said. "There are people who don't appreciate me assuming Ra's al Ghul's title. They will attempt to destroy me."

"And so you come to me," Bane said. "And here I thought the League didn't want me anymore."

"Maybe they don't," she said. "But I do."

"A fine sentiment. But that doesn't tell me why I should help you."

That made her grip tighten on the arms of her chair. He had let the question hang between them, enjoying having caught her off-guard. It had been _years_ since he'd seen her.

"I could offer you money," she said tonelessly. "But that's beneath the both of us."

He laughed. "Why then, Talia al Ghul? To bring balance to the world, as the League of Shadows taught us? For the glorious revolution?"

She seemed smaller then, more vulnerable.

"For Ra's al Ghul maybe?" Bane asked. "For the man who brought me out of the Pit. Perhaps you'd like me to honor his memory?"

There was steel in her voice when she answered. "For all those things," she said. "And, for me."

He had regarded her then, at the iron clang of her resolve. The truth was he'd already made his decision. But there was something to be said for the time she had allowed to pass before trying to find him again.

"I will think on it," he said.

She had glared at him, incredulous. "You'll _think on it_?"

"I'll let you know when I've decided," he had said. "Until then, try not to die."

* * *

A cool breeze picked up, washing over the disquiet in the aftermath of the assassination attempt. Bane had watched out the window until the men stationed downstairs had picked the Captain up. One soldier had signed 'he lives'. Bane had gestured in return, 'keep him alive.'

Ubu had seen to Talia's wound. The bullet had grazed her, but the wound was deep.

"We should be getting you to a hospital," Ubu said.

"And undermine your medical skills? I wouldn't dream of it."

Talia had settled back in the bedroom. There was a bullet hole at the back of the chair she had been sitting on when the Captain came to the door. Another had knocked down the lamp she had snapped off, so she could move under the cover of darkness and throttle him where he stood.

The Captain's gun was on the low table before her. Its original owner, Bane had found, was one of his own soldiers, who had been dishing out drinks in the kitchen right before the shooting started. Losing track of your weapon was gross negligence – Bane made sure to impress the point upon all his men by emptying the gun into the Bartender's chest.

Barsad was given charge of burying him. A second grave was being dug for the Captain, for when Bane was through with him in the next day or so.

"Any idea what we're going to tell the house management?" Talia asked Ubu, as he began taking his supplies away. He had a first aid kit that shamed most hospitals.

"That you have some wild party games involving firearms?"

She made a noise of distaste. "We'll offer them a fee," she said.

"Very well. You'll tell me if the wound continues to bother you? I'll come back in a few hours to change the bandages…"

"Thank you, Ubu," she gave him a smile. "I'll call if I need you."

Ubu made a slight bow and backed out of the room. Then, and only then, did she turn to Bane. He had been standing at the door for some minutes without saying a word.

"Would you like to tell me how an assassin wound up here with your crew?" she asked.

"The fault is mine," he said. "We needed a captain and I chartered the first one we found."

"Without checking if he was, maybe, out to kill me?"

"A couple of my people performed the usual background checks and found nothing." He made a mental note to search those men out when they got back to Santa Prisca. There would be more graves for Barsad to dig.

"Still," he said. "The fault is mine."

"So it is." She took the gun in her good hand, expertly replaced the magazine, and pointed it right at Bane's face. "Shall I kill you for your carelessness?"

He didn't flinch. "As you wish."

"I should," she said, cracking a smile. "But you did save my life."

She offered the gun to him by the grip and he returned it to the table.

"There are some disturbing implications to this," she said. "I thought we'd wiped out everyone on the other side of the Schism."

"It would seem there's a few of them left."

"Then maybe it's not a bad thing that our plans for Gotham are delayed," Talia sank back against the sofa, as though the strain of the experience had just caught up with her. "It gives us time to root our old enemies out."

"I'll be having a chat with the Captain," Bane said, taking a seat beside her.

"If he was indeed of the League of Shadows, he won't talk."

"No," Bane said. "But I believe I can make him scream."

Talia raised an eyebrow. "Then you'd better see to him before he bleeds out."

"He'll keep 'til morning," Bane said. "For tonight, I'll be staying here."

Talia looked up at him from the cushions. "Are you now?"

"Yes."

She closed her eyes. "As you wish."


	8. Barsad III

**VIII - Barsad**

The assassin lasted far longer under Bane's ministrations than anyone might have guessed. The screaming started towards noon, carrying into the house. Most pretended they couldn't hear it. Raio, on the other hand, started up another wager, on how long the screaming would last. But Barsad was in no mood to take part in it.

He had seen Bane angry before – had seen him act on his rage with swift, violent, decisiveness. But he had never seen anything like this.

The Captain was chained to one of the coconut trees on the shore. The longer he stood there, the redder the sand became beneath his feet. Every now and then, Bane would ask a question, about the man's allegiances, or how he'd found out about the rendezvous with Talia. But the questioning was lazy, barely afterthoughts in between bouts of action. Bane used his bare fists. He'd start slow, targeting joints, jaw, ribs. He'd build up a rhythm, easy, like this were any simple exercise. And then suddenly a tooth would fly out. Something would crack. The Captain made noises Barsad had heard in pigs being slaughtered. In fairness to him, he never said a word.

At dusk, Talia came out to join them, her arm in a sling. Ubu came close behind.

"Is this the Captain?" she asked, lifting whatever remained of the man's face up by his chin. "I didn't recognize him."

"That _was_ the Captain," Barsad murmured.

"You should have seen him, entirely _refusing_ to divulge information," Bane said calmly, his knuckles matted in gore. "Even when I got a bit carried away."

"It doesn't look like he'll be divulging much of anything now," she said, letting his face drop and wiping her hand on her skirt.

"What do you think?" Bane asked.

"I think he should die now," she said.

Bane turned to the Captain one final time, and dealt a blow to his skull that made the entire tree shudder. The assassin made one last, tight wheeze. Blood poured from his eyes. Barsad felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was over.

Bane made a few gestures towards the corpse. A pair of soldiers began to cut the body down, to bring it to the grave already prepared for it.

"Well, that's done," Bane said. There was a cheerful ring to his tone that made Barsad's guts churn.

"You're a mess," Talia said, gesturing to the stains all over his arms. "Ubu prepared a full five-course dinner for the farewell banquet. I can't possibly let you into the house looking like that."

Bane looked down at his hands, like he were noticing the blood for the first time. And then he turned towards the shore, where the high tide had brought the sea to the tree line.

"Fortunately, we happen to be in a lovely beach," he said.

"It is lovely, isn't it?" Talia said. "We should come here next year. Assuming we no longer have problems with assassins."

They walked out to the waves, with Bane leaving bright red footprints behind him.

Not too far away, the sun was setting behind the silhouette of the mercenaries' ship – the ship, Barsad thought, that he would be in charge of captaining, now that the Captain had been reduced to pulped meat.

Ubu and Barsad kept back, watching as Bane waded out into the ocean and sank himself up to his shoulders. Talia remained on the shore, her back to them.

When she turned to the side, you didn't see that her arm was in a sling. And when the waves rose, you could almost ignore Bane's mask. Barsad thought, with dark amusement, that they could almost pass off as a holidaying couple.

"Those two," Barsad said. "Are they people pretending to be monsters, or monsters pretending to be people?"

Ubu shrugged. "They are what they have to be."

Bane seemed to be talking to Talia, but whatever he was saying was drowned by the wind. They could have been talking about the Captain, or the League of Shadows, or their plans for Gotham City. Maybe they were talking about Talia's father, Ra's al Ghul, or the man who killed him, Bruce Wayne. But somehow, Barsad knew they weren't.

* * *

He had been privy to a lot of conversations between Bane and the Demonhead – their discussions covered everything from what the League should be targeting next, to the various pros and cons of automatic weapons, to their favourite poets. But it was only once Barsad had heard them talking about their shared past, a time which largely remained shrouded in mystery.

It was during the first of Miranda Tate's annual holidays, in a log manor up in the Alps. It had been a tense time – Talia and Bane's faction had just launched what they thought would be the last of their offensives against their enemies in the Schism. And while most of the League had already declared Talia to be the new Demonhead, she risked eroding her own authority by going to Gotham to pose as Miranda Tate.

Security had been particularly tight at the Swiss manor. Barsad himself had been on patrol when he came upon them, on the manor's balcony. It was strange to find a bubble of serenity amidst the armed patrols, but the snow had covered the landscape in a soft layer of white, and the stars were out.

"Reminds you of home doesn't it?" Talia had said.

Bane had shrugged. "A bit too wide and open to be home."

"You're thinking of the Pit," she said. "I was thinking of the League's monastery."

Barsad had found himself dawdling right behind them, fiddling with the scope on his rifle. They both probably knew he was there, they just chose to ignore him.

"Do you remember what it was like, inside the Pit?" Bane asked.

"I prefer to remember escaping," she said. "And bringing my father back to avenge my poor mother. And then bringing you out with me."

She had wrapped her arms around herself, against the chill. "I don't like remembering the Pit."

"I was in the Pit long before you," Bane said. "So that even now, I find myself returning there whenever I close my eyes. If I were to one day awaken and find myself back there, I wouldn't be surprised."

"If that happens," Talia said, "I'll just have to go back and get you out again."

He made a low noise, which might have been a chuckle, but she didn't return it.

"We're meant to be out here," she said, deadly serious. "Both of us. We will raise a fire the likes of which the world has never seen."

"Lead the way then," Bane said, hands on the lapels of his coat. "I will follow."

Behind them, Barsad had thought, 'we all will.'

* * *

Seawater dripped off Bane's clothes, trickling down his arms. The blood was all gone.

"…It may have been a fish," he was saying.

"No," she said, "What kind of fish swims this close to land?"

He flicked the water from his hand right into Talia's face and she swore loudly, wiping the seawater from her hair. But she was grinning, and Barsad suspected that underneath the mask, Bane was smiling too. Never mind he had spent the better part of the day slowly beating a man to death.

"Did you have a nice swim?" Barsad asked.

"The water was cold," Bane said in a tone which made Talia burst out laughing. What was so funny was completely lost on Barsad.

"We're going back inside," Talia said brightly. "Dinner in a few minutes, Ubu?"

"Of course," Ubu said, hurrying on ahead.

Barsad watched his two leaders walk past. It was completely absurd, them strolling together. All that was missing was that they held hands. And between their hands, Barsad wondered just how much blood they had spilled.

Just considering it sent a chill down his spine, so he shook the thought away and followed them back to the house.


	9. Ubu III

**IX – Ubu**

The last night in the island was spent emptying out the house's wine racks. Ubu didn't know if the mercenaries had simply forgotten that two men had died in the last day, or if they were purposely trying to forget it.

Ubu allowed himself a single glass of red wine, and he took it slowly as he passed from one part of the house to the next. He checked the garden where he had briefly conversed with the Captain, but there was nothing there but the bottles he had been so certain the would-be assassin had downed.

In the living room, Raio and a few of the other soldiers were back on Call of Duty, with one of them woefully noting that Bane didn't let them play video games in Santa Prisca.

Past them, in the dining room, the men were playing some kind of drinking game. Barsad was in the middle of it, placing the top on a high pyramid of shot glasses. He tried to wave Ubu over, but the retainer politely shook his head.

It was an unspoken rule that no one was to venture up to the upper floor – it was the last night after all. And it would be a whole other year until Miranda Tate could go on holiday again. But Ubu felt he wouldn't be able to relax until he was certain all was well. And so he quietly went up the stairs, still with the wine in hand.

The wind howled through the broken window at the end of the second floor corridor. In the moonlight, it was hard to pick out the gunshot holes in the floor and walls. Light seeped out of a crack in the door in the master's bedroom, and Ubu peered in.

There was something on the table that took a beat for Ubu to recognize. It was Bane's mask. Without Bane's head to wrap around, it was a deflated pile of straps and tubing.

Talia was across the room, talking about the assassin. "In a way, he was quite admirable - masking his skill, and making everyone think he was just some drunk. Theatricality and deception. He really was of the League of Shadows."

She was lounging on the sofa, her robe loose about her shoulders. Her arm was still wrapped in bandages.

"That's how I should approach Bruce Wayne," she said. "It's not enough that Miranda Tate is known to him through Wayne Enterprises. I must make him trust me. I must move in, close."

Bane crossed into Ubu's line of sight. Ubu couldn't quite see Bane's face, but he could make out the impressive scar that went down the mercenary's back, from the base of his neck, all the way down his spine.

"How close?" Bane asked. His voice was surprisingly loud when it wasn't muffled by the mask.

"As close as I can get," she said. "You know what I mean. My entire body is a weapon, and will be deployed where it deals the most damage."

"I have no doubt the damage will be catastrophic." When Bane turned about, Ubu had a fleeting impression of thick, corded scar tissue creeping up the side of Bane's chin. But then Bane faced Talia, and if there was anything wrong with his face, there was nothing in Talia's expression to suggest she noticed it.

"I would also like to make Mr. Wayne's acquaintance as well. In my own fashion, of course," Bane said. "I'm curious to see how he breaks."

"He's supposed to be the best warrior my father ever trained."

"Excellent! Then I can expect to be entertained."

"As long as you don't get carried away like you did with the Captain," Talia said with a smile. "I, on the other hand, will have to keep up appearances."

Bane disappeared off to the side. Ubu caught a glance of the tubing stuck into Bane's arm, which trailed down into a packet sticking out his pocket - a morphine delivery system.

"Ahh, then we will be enemies when I come to Gotham."

"I will reveal myself when the time comes," said Talia. "Until then, yes, we will be enemies…"

Her voice trailed off. She had spotted Ubu at the door. She said nothing, only raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Ubu suddenly got the feeling he had walked in on something he shouldn't have. He bowed tersely, and began pulling the door shut.

"Do you have any idea what to do after we've burned Gotham to the ground?" Bane was asking.

"I don't know yet. Go on vacation, maybe," Talia said.

* * *

Much, much later, Ubu would return to what little he had overhead that night and wonder if either Bane or Talia had any notion as to what their fates would be, when they brought the great reckoning to Gotham City. He could not have asked them - by then, Talia would have sent him back to the League's Monastery, to watch over her interests there while Bane and his mercenary army laid siege to the city.

He would wonder if Bane, for all his strength and cunning, had underestimated Bruce Wayne, and if Talia, for all her patience and subterfuge, had waited too long to deal the final blow to Gotham. He will have heard of what happened from the pitiful few who were able to escape the city in the aftermath of the fighting, among them Barsad, burdened by a gunshot wound in the chest. Ubu would wonder how the mercenary leader and the Demonhead met their ends, although he'd never doubt they met it with dignity.

Before then however, would be a long time to lay plans deep – there would be a few more holidays for Miranda Tate to go on, a few more enemies for the League to kill.

At the moment, Ubu concerned himself with none of those. He found himself out on the veranda, sloshing the wine in its glass. It would be a few good hours until the sun came back up, and then there would be the business of seeing the mercenaries off before he and Talia returned to civilization. Ubu downed the glass in a single go, relishing the taste.

**END**


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